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Refined: Turning Pain into Purpose

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Todd Stocker

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“He turned his hollow gray eyes on her. "I'm angry," he said. "I am still so angry." Surprised, charlie started to open her mouth and then closed it again. "Last night, after you fell asleep, I couldn't stop looking at the swell of your cheek. The snarl of your dark hair. The shipped black nail polish on your toes, curled up against whatever dream you were having. The way you pulled loose the bottom sheet with the violence of sleeping. I looked at you and had a feeling so intense that it made me dizzy and a little sick." His gaze was on the silvery grass of the lawn. "It's no good to feel this way." Charlie's heart hammered. He had never spoken to her like that. She didn't think anyone had spoken to her like that. "Vince?" "When I saw you tonight - what he'd done, what he was doing, I wanted to kill him. I was furious and I haven't stopped being furious. I don't feel guilty. I wish he was alive so I could kill him again." Astonishment robbed her of breath. Vince didn't get angry. He didn't talk about his feelings. He didn't sit alone in the dark, talking about shadows and stars. He turned to her. "Pretend I didn't say any of that. If you can, pretend tonight never happened, Charlie.”

“Iss like sinkin in2 thi sky on thi other side ov thi Erf wifout goin thru thi whole fing furst. Iss like flotin in2 thi erf & thi sky @thi time, becomin a line not a point, plumin thi depths & assendin thi hites & then branchin out like a tree, like a plane tree, like a hooj bush interminglin wif every bit ov thi erf & thi sky, & then iss like every 1 ov those bits isnt juss a bit ov erf or a molicule ov air eny more, iss like ol ov them is suddenly a littl system ov ther own; a book, a library, a persin; a world ... & yoor connectid wif ol ov it, ignorin barryers, like u r a brain sell deep in thi grainy grey mush ov thi brain all closed in but joined up 2 loadsa uthir sells, awash in ther communicashin-song & set free by that trapt meshin.”